


the difference between shooting stars and satellites

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things have calmed down, so it's time for a wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the difference between shooting stars and satellites

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "ok so how about a fic where the delinquents have saved the day, the CoL is destroyed, and everybody is settling down and starting to live again. They have a sort of party, and a bittersweet slow song comes on. Bellamy holds out his hand and offers to dance with clarke. (maybe it could end in their first kiss???)"
> 
> I didn't actually mention the name of the song, but I was imagining "[Passenger Seat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKmGJParYno)" by Death Cab For Cutie, which obviously survived the apocalypse and also gives the fic its name.

"So, what are my duties?"

Clarke smiles, leans into Bellamy a little, as natural as breathing. At first, she worried, thought that once they weren't always on the brink of destruction, he might think it was weird, that she wanted to be so close. Sometimes _she_ thinks it's weird, how her heart will start to race if she doesn't see him for too long, how she feels like she can't breathe when he isn't close enough she could take his hand if she needed to.

But he never seems to think it's unusual, and even if he did, he certainly doesn't seem to mind.

"You don't have any duties. You're not in the wedding party or performing the ceremony. All you have to do is come and get drunk after. Honestly, you probably don't even have to come. Kane might care, but my mom doesn't."

"I meant my duties to you." He offers half a smile. "I assume it's weird. Not that my mom ever married any of the guys she was fucking, but it was weird enough when she didn't."

"I'm happy for them," Clarke says, automatic, and there's a second's pause before he takes her hand and squeezes, and that's all it takes. She curls all the way into him, remembering how to breathe once he's close. She's studied enough medicine to be able to diagnose herself, to recognize PTSD and panic attacks. But she doesn't want them to get triggered by her mother's _wedding_ , of all things. Because she is happy. Really, she is. "Just stay close," she says.

"I meant anything special," he says, dry, and she smiles. "I'm just saying, it's okay to feel weird."

"Good, because that's all I ever feel now."

His hand rubs over her back. "I'll be in the front row on your mom's side."

"She must have been thrilled."

"We made a truce," he says. "Neither of us is going anywhere, and--" He pauses, finally says, "I assume it's like you and Octavia."

Clarke and Octavia had a few bad fights, after she killed Pike. Not that Clarke cared that much about Pike specifically, but Bellamy still had cuts on his face, and part of him still thought he deserved them, and Octavia still acts like he did, even after everything. And that she can't forgive.

"My mom never beat me," she mutters, and Bellamy squeezes her.

"This is a wedding," he says. "Let's try not to argue until the ceremony is over and we're all drunk."

"This is my first wedding," she admits. None of her friends on the Ark ever got married, and it wasn't like she had any relatives.

"Mine too. It's a good one to start with. I don't care if we screw it up."

It's been good for everyone, Clarke thinks. They have no impending threats; the City of Light is gone, Roan and Luna divided leadership of the Grounders between warriors and pacifists, and ALIE was wrong about the reactors, or bluffing, or lying. She doesn't really care, why ALIE said anything she said. All that matters is that they're safe, for now.

That Bellamy is here, leaning his head on hers. That her mother is getting married. It's complicated, but she mostly really is happy.

It's a good time to have a celebration.

They disentangle for the ceremony, but Bellamy is right in the front row, like he promised, and once she's walked her mother down the aisle and kissed her on the cheek, Clarke gets to go and sit with him. He takes her hand in his and squeezes, doesn't let go until she goes to take photographs.

The old camera Raven repaired is a little temperamental, but Raven loves the fucking thing. She's always taking pictures, and Clarke's room is full of them, documented proof of each person who forgives her for leaving and is happy to have her home.

She's not sure what she'll do with the wedding pictures, but she thinks she'll probably put them up. It doesn't hurt to look at her mother, smiling and happy. It'll be nice.

When they're done, she spots Bellamy sitting on one of the benches near the dance floor, watching Monty and Jasper hook up the sound system, so she grabs two drinks from Miller and goes to sit next to him.

It's not the first time they've had a drink together, but it feels significant every time. She wonders what would have happened, if she'd stayed when he asked her to. Maybe Lexa would still be alive. Maybe she could have told them how to defeat ALIE and it never would have gone so far or gotten so bad.

Maybe Bellamy wouldn't have killed those people. Maybe he wouldn't look so haunted all the time.

But then he smiles at her, and it's not _all_ the time. He's going to get better. He has to. She's going to make sure they both do.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Okay. You?"

"Fine." Then he looks down at his drink, inclines his head. "No worse than usual."

"That's what I thought you meant, yeah."

"Great." He looks back at Monty and Jasper. "They seem happy."

"Yeah."

"This is going to stop feeling wrong sometime, right?"

She smiles, takes a sip of the drink. She's getting used to the moonshine, even if she won't let herself drink it too much. It makes Bellamy antsy, and she gets it; she wasn't there for Jasper after Mount Weather, but she's picked up enough to know it was bad.

"People being happy, or my mother specifically being happy?"

He snorts and leans his cheek on her hair. "Not just your mother."

"Mostly my mother."

He lets the joke pass. "No. Not her."

"Drink your alcohol."

"Yeah, that'll help." But he does take a sip, a deliberate one. Like he's clearing his throat. "Gina was a bartender."

"Yeah, I know. I asked Raven. Not--I didn't know if I should ask you, so I wanted--"

"I get it." He pauses, careful, and then says, "If anyone else actually knew Lexa, I definitely would have asked them, but--"

She laughs, feels him relax as soon as she does. He's better at joking about his own trauma than hers, but--she likes all of it. All of it feels like _them_. "You can ask me, if you really want to know."

His thumb traces over her knuckles. She's been documenting how he touches her, the care he takes to do nothing she hasn't done to him first, the way he'll hesitate until he realizes she's not stopping him. It makes her ache, but she doesn't know how to talk to him about it. All she can do is reciprocate, and hope he realizes she likes this too.

"Not really," he admits. "Not--I want to know about _you_. And I get how much she mattered to you. But--I can't think about it being _her_."

"Yeah," she says. "I understand."

"She made you happy, though?"

It makes her feel terrible, when she realizes she has to think about it. She was so numb, for so long. _Happy_ feels like such a huge, strong word. It still feels like too much, most days.

"No," she admits. It feels like speaking ill of the dead, but that wasn't really it. "I--now and then, she did." He squeezes her hand, and she buries her face in his shoulder. A few tears slip out, because--god. All that, and she wasn't even happy. "I loved her, but it's not--That wasn't enough."

"Yeah," he says. "But she helped, right?"

"She helped. And I think--we could have been happy. Someday. If--"

If she could have been here, she realizes. If they'd been different people. If their own responsibilities wouldn't have dragged them apart eventually, even leaving aside everything else.

"I'd say you have shitty taste in women, but I liked Niylah," he says, mild, and her laugh is wet, but real.

"I hear Gina was great."

"Yeah, I have great taste in women."

"Lucky you."

"I would have gotten over it," he says, finally. "If--if she mattered that much to you. I would have forgiven her. Hell, I would have told her to move in, if it would have gotten you home."

"I know." She presses her lips to his shoulder. "Tell me about Gina."

"It was probably pretty unfair of me," he says. "I was a wreck. I shouldn't have been--I wasn't a very good boyfriend."

"You're always pretty hard on yourself. Raven said she was sorry about--she said she teased you."

"Yeah. It was fine. Good, even. I liked that part." She can't read his voice when he says, "I think you would have liked her."

"Maybe," she says, just as guarded, because--she would have. But she couldn't have, at the same time. Even now, there's a small, hot ember in her stomach, not just jealousy, but something else, something darker. The knowledge that if Gina was alive, she wouldn't be like this with him.

The knowledge she wouldn't be like this if Lexa was, either.

"Maybe," he agrees, and the music blares into sudden life before he can say anything else. Jasper whoops, and Monty pulls him into an impromptu dance, sweeping him around the empty dance floor, grinning, both of them laughing.

"That's not weird, right?" Clarke asks.

"That's fucking awesome."

She taps her cup against his and they both drink; once he puts his down, he settles his free arm around her, his other hand still holding hers. It should be weirder than anything, how tangled they are, but it's the time she feels most herself. She always knows where she stands with Bellamy.

Ideally, it's right next to him.

The first dance is her mother and Kane and it's--nice. Taken all on its own. There's a part of her that still thinks her mother doesn't _need_ anyone new, that her father could still be alive, if her mother had just made better choices.

But he's not, and she'd rather, all things considered, have her mother be happy than miserable. Losing one person she loved shouldn't be the end of her life. 

Of any of their lives.

"This is nice, right?" she asks Bellamy.

"Sure. Drink more."

She laughs. "You always know just what to say."

"If that's true, you have the worst taste in friends of anyone I have ever met."

"Takes one to know one."

"Ouch. That didn't even make sense."

"It is nice, though," she says. "Just--we deserve this."

"I really hope we aren't going to start getting what we deserve," he says, and she doesn't know what to say to that. No one will ever convince her Bellamy Blake doesn't deserve the best things in the world, not even Bellamy himself.

"You should drink more," she tells him at last. "You need it more than I do."

"Cheers," he says, and does drink. "I'm happy for them too."

"Sure you are."

"Really," he says. "It's not like I want anyone to be miserable. We might as well be happy."

"Yeah," she agrees. "We might as well be."

Once Kane and her mother finish their dance, Abby comes over, offers Clarke her hands. "I don't have a father/daughter dance," she says. She's flushed, smiling, and Clarke finds it easy to smile back. "Will you come instead?"

Clarke hands Bellamy her drink. "Finish that."

"Got it. Have fun."

It's a little strange, getting in step with her mother; they've never danced together. Clarke finally says, "I'll lead," and Abby laughs.

"That is how we always seem to end up."

"It was a nice service," Clarke offers, once they've settled into the familiar movements. She hasn't danced in a while, but she and Wells took lessons, back on the Ark. It seems so odd to remember, that she was once the kind of girl who learned ballroom dancing for fun.

"Thank you. I think we'll start having more, now that we've figured out the basic ceremony." 

Clarke hums, noncommittal. She can think of some people who might marry, but she wonders how many of them will bother with something as formal and proper as Abby and Kane's wedding. Maybe she's just gotten used to delinquents. 

"You never told me," Abby says, and Clarke stiffens, just for a second. There are a lot of things she's never told your mother. "How you met Bellamy. Or--I know how you met. But I didn't expect--when Thelonious told me you were defending him, I was surprised. I didn't expect the two of you would be--leaders."

"He's a good guy," Clarke says. She wets her lips. "We didn't get along at first. He was--it took us a while to figure it out. But he's good at getting people to listen to him. And he's good at surviving. It just--" It's hard for her to explain, what happened with Bellamy. "He's smart and he's loyal and he knew what we needed. And he's still all those things."

"He's--" Abby says, and Clarke can't wait to hear this one, honestly. "I'm glad you have him," she finally settles on. She even makes it sound sincere.

"I am too. And I'm glad you're happy. I'm glad--you two found each other." And it is true. It doesn't catch in her throat or anything. "We all deserve some happiness."

"Yes, we do," Abby agrees. "We all do."

Her eyes find Bellamy automatically, like they always do, and it's not a surprise that he's already watching her, but it hits her somewhere low in her gut anyway, the knowledge that for almost as long as she's known Bellamy, whenever she's looked to him, he's already been looking at her.

He's always looking at her, and she's always looking back, and it feels so stupid, suddenly. What are they waiting for?

The song winds down, and Abby hugs her, tight. She smells like she's always smelled, under the dirt and the strange soap they use on Earth. She's always going to be Clarke's mother, and it's comforting, right now. They might never be like they were before, but--they'll keep changing together. And they're always going to be family.

"I love you," Abby says, and Clarke smiles.

"I love you too."

She looks for Bellamy again, spots him tripping over his own feet as Miller tugs him up, the two of them trying to settle into something like a modified waltz. His eyes find her a second later and he grins, looking boyish and happy, and her own smile feels unreal, almost selfish.

The world is full of terrible things, but that won't stop her loving Bellamy Blake.

Monty catches her before she can sit back down, whirls her into a dance of his own. None of them are paying any attention to the actual beat of the songs, just doing whatever dances they feel like, laughing and happy. She's not sure how many of them are actually drunk; she thinks they're just relieved, giddy with possibility.

Monty passes her to Raven, Raven passes her to Miller, Miller passes her to Harper. She keeps finding Bellamy in the crowd, grinning at him, grinning wider when he ducks his head to laugh.

The song ends and she looks for Bellamy automatically, nearly panics until he says, "Clarke," low and amused, and he's _right there_ , offering his hand. "You want to dance?"

She slides her hand into his, shivers even though he holds her hand all the time. Closeness isn't new for them, but this feels different.

"I'm really bad at dancing," he admits, drawing her in. 

The song is starting slow, and the two of them match it. There's piano, she thinks, but she's never been good with music. And it's hard to think about anything at all when he's so close and she loves him.

Fuck, does she love him.

"You were doing fine before," she says, getting their feet aligned.

"That wasn't really dancing."

What they're doing really isn't dancing either, just standing close and swaying in a circle, but it's closer than she's come with anyone else but her mother.

"Still okay?" he asks, soft.

"Great."

"Yeah?"

She leans her head on his chest, over his heartbeat. "You're here."

"I'm always here."

"You are." The music is--wistful, maybe. Longing. It's romantic, but soft, and it feels like he planned it, somehow. "Did you ask Monty what was coming up next?"

"No." There's a pause, and then his hand squeezes her waist, just for a second. "I'm not going to want to stop after one dance, Clarke. We were going to hit something like this eventually."

When she opens her eyes, she can see him flushing a little, even in the dark. He's looking at her; of course he's looking at her, smile soft.

"Good," she says, and leans up to press her lips against his. There's light stubble on his face, and he tastes a little like alcohol, but not much. He's sober, and he should know she is too.

But his kiss is--restrained. She'd hoped he'd be enthusiastic, that he'd be wild with it, because she feels wild finally doing this, and she was so _sure_. He had to want her. But he only responds to her, almost mechanical, opening his mouth for her when she swipes her tongue against his lips, reciprocating as if he's keeping score and trying to make sure no one gets ahead. It's not until his hand twitches in her that she figures it out, and she pulls back, laughing softly and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Bellamy." 

She can hear him swallow. "Yeah?"

"Do you want to kiss me?" His hand twitches again, and she presses her mouth under her jaw. "You don't always have to wait for me, you know. And even if you were, I already kissed you, so--"

"Clarke."

"It's okay if you don't want to," she says. The song's ended, and the new one is fast, but they're ignoring it, Bellamy still just turning them in slow circles, holding her close. She thinks he's shaking a little. "If that's--you're my best friend, Bellamy. You're always going to be my best friend. Even if you don't--"

"Fuck, Clarke," he says, and his lips press against her temple. "You really want me to start tearing your clothes off at your mom's wedding? I will, obviously, just say the word, but--"

She laughs into his neck. "That's what would happen?"

"Yeah," he says. His hand strokes over her back, a deliberate pause in the conversation. "I love you, but your timing sucks."

The sound that comes out of her is all relief, but she thinks it'll pass for a laugh. "Speak for yourself. This is great for me. Pulling focus from my mom's wedding."

"You say that now, but tomorrow we're going to wake up with an army at our door. That's how it works for us."

"But we're waking up together, right?"

"Fuck," he says again, soft, and then he slides his hand under her chin, tilts her face up to kiss her. It's not much longer than the first kiss, but it feels different, soft and sure, Bellamy in control and so loving that she practically melts against him with happiness. 

"The world's definitely going to end tomorrow," she says, grinning up at him.

"Oh yeah, no question." He brushes his nose against hers. "So you're coming home with me tonight."

"Every night until the world ends," she says. "I love you too."

"Yeah." It feels like a miracle, how easy his voice is. "I figured." He strokes her back again, as if he's making sure she's still there. "We can leave any time you want. I assume your mom won't be offended. And I don't care if she is."

She laughs. "No, this is--this is nice." It's a slow song again, and their gentle swaying is back to fitting the tempo. Not that she cares when it doesn't. "We've got plenty of time."

"You're going to be so embarrassed when the world ends," he teases.

"We can handle it. We always do, right?"

His smile is warm and all for her. "So far, yeah. Let's see if we can keep it up."

She settles back in his arms. "I bet we can."


End file.
